Funhouse
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: The sun is shining. The birds are singing. And, thanks to my brother, I am going to Hell. *Undertaker/Kane slash*


**Fun House**

"But _why_?!"

I less than gracefully swing into a parking space. Earning me several sets of heated glares from the group of pedestrians strolling by. Obviously, they have no clue who I am or they wouldn't be putting their eyeballs in my direction.

"Don't flip them off," chides Kane. "I do not feel like saving your ass today." He's unbuckled and out of the car before I even switch off the engine.

The civilians in question consist of four teenage boys and one slightly older male. The young bucks look the type to take one look at an iron and just say no. I'm tempted to inform them that the money they're shelling out on hair product would be much better spent on say… belts. The only ass I'm interested in viewing is Kane's.

Speaking of my ass of a brother…

"Why are we doing this again?" This is the fourth time I've asked this question since we left the hotel this morning. I have yet to get an answer I can live with.

The sun is shining; birds are twittering and trilling their little hearts out. For the first time in about six weeks, I'm not hitting the gym, hitting the road, or hitting on an opponent. Today, for all intents and purposes, should be a nice, relaxing day.

But it's not going to be. I can tell.

Kane confronts me as we round the trunk of the car. "For what had better be the last time… We are here because of a promise you made. A promise that, on our next day off, we would do whatever I wanted to do."

"That doesn't sound like something I would say."

Out of his pocket comes this gadget. Some folks would call it a cell phone. I call it a piece of mutant death technology come from the future to enslave the human race. Frankly, I don't trust a phone unless it's plugged into the wall. I realize I'm in the minority on that score, but that's okay. Someone has to form the resistance.

Kane presses a few buttons on his "phone". Ultimately, a voice emerges from the wires and circuits. _"Kane, I promise we can do anything you like the next time we get some time off. And I won't complain about it."_

The voice on his device is my own. Damn that mutant death technology!

"How do I even know that's my voice on there?" I'm grasping at straws here. As desperate as a man flailing his arms after falling off a cliff. Looking for a miracle to save my life. "Again, that doesn't sound like something I would say."

The look he gives me lets me know just how weak my argument is. Without uttering another word, he strides towards the exit of the parking lot. Leaving me with a choice to make. I can get back in the car, drive off, and pick him up later… Or I can follow him.

Ditching Kane is like wearing a raincoat on Volcano Day. Not only does it _not_ put off the inevitable, but you end up dying looking like an idiot.

Besides, Kane already has abandonment issues. If this is what makes him happy, then I'm willing to sacrifice a few hours of my life. It's better than waking up with scorpions in my bed.

Trotting to keep up, I pause beneath the entrance archway. A ten-foot tall clown face grins down at me. This is an omen of things to come.

"I love my brother," I mumble under my breath. "He's brought me to the home of killer clowns… But I love my brother…"

Locating Kane in a crowd is not difficult. He tends to loom about a foot over most people's heads. I find him standing in line at the ticket booth. I decide to announce myself in my own special way. With a sharp smack on the ass.

My poor baby just about jumps out of his shorts. I cannot laugh. If I laugh out loud, Kane will hurt me. Not that any punishment he devices could match the agony of containing my amusement. Is it possible to bust a rib because you _didn't_ laugh?

Kane's head swivels from side to side. Assessing that my actions went unnoticed, he growls, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

A smirk creeps onto my otherwise stony face. "You want the full list or just the highlights?" It's taken a lot of persuasion on my part to get Kane to ditch the mask when we're in public. Getting to watch his face flush is my reward. "Relax. I'm just havin' a little fun. That's what people _do_ at a carnival. Have fun, eat outrageous amounts of fried food, and then ride rides until they puke their guts out."

The line quickly progresses. "No where on that list," Kane says, "is there mention of you slapping my ass like you're the Lone Ranger or something."

"Is this the part where I make some comment about me being the one getting ridden all the time?" I hand the guy in the ticket booth enough cash to cover Kane and myself. "Because I'm more than willing."

Giving in to a smirk of his own, Kane counters, "Is this the part where I joke about you always being 'more than willing'?"

The boy's quick on his feet, I'll give him that.

After receiving a rather odd look from the guy in the booth, we proceed into my waking nightmare.

One would think that, given my training, my travels, and my time spent in the business, I would remain unfazed by the shenanigans unfolding around me. And I am… For the most part…

A small child runs past me, screaming, "Look, Daddy! A clown!" The parents are having a hell of a time catching up to the little boy with the clown in his sights.

"Mark?"

Where's the cotton candy booth? If I'm going to endure this afternoon, I'm gonna need a sugar buzz. "Yeah?"

"Umm… Not to put too fine a point on it but… If I thought you slapping my ass was out of line, holding my hand ain't gonna make it better."

"What are you…" I glance down and… I'll be damned! "Sorry." I pull my hand out of his before shoving them both into my pockets.

Kane and I don't do public displays of affection. We keep that stuff private. Being on the receiving end of somebody's camera almost every day of the week makes us a bit protective of our personal lives. All it would take is one individual snapping a shot of us in a non-lethal, more-than-brotherly embrace for Vince McMahon to rake us over the coals.

Not that he would cause too much trouble for us. He knows Kane and I put butts in seats. Both in arenas and on the couches in people's living rooms. We make him money which, in turn, makes us money. Vinnie Mac's not dumb enough to interfere with our personal business.

Especially considering the number of times I've had his son kneeling in front of me. In a very _personal _manner. That was before Kane, of course.

Seeing as I've already handed over my hard-earned dough, I figure we might as well get started. "Which ride first?" I ask. From where I stand, I spy the Ferris wheel, a poor excuse for a roller coaster, and some mechanical monstrosity involving swings. "You into swingin', baby brother?"

Kane looks at the swing set, looks at me, and then looks back at the swings. After a moment's silence, he says, "Well… There is something about those chains and safety harnesses that I find mighty appealing…"

I love the way Kane's mind works. So in sync with mine. If I could, I'd kiss his brain.

People give us wide birth as we progress into the fairgrounds. Could it be they find us intimidating? Nah…

"I'm not really here for the rides," Kane informs me. "It's more about the food and prizes."

"Uh-huh… Just outta curiosity… You're not expecting me to win you any of them prizes, are ya?" The image of Kane carrying around a gigantic stuffed gorilla creeps into my mind. It is both adorable and slightly unsettling.

His grin is much more appealing than the one worn by the clown at the entrance. Or any other clown, for that matter. "I don't _expect_ you to do anything. But it would be nice."

Nice? Do I _do_ nice? It's hard to say. Our relationship has turned the world I used to know inside out. Am I supposed to be a warmer, kinder individual now that I've found someone that loves me so completely?

An idea dawns on me.

"Kane, is this a date?"

He blinks at me, a little bit confused. His words come slowly, like he's speaking them directly from his brain, rather than putting them through the usual filter. "I… guess… it could be a… _date_." Apparently, today was not a premeditated rendezvous. Kane simply wanted to go to the carnival. "How does a date differ from us just doing stuff together?"

"Well, a date is…" I pause, and then try again. "When two people are on a date…" It's my turn to blink in confusion. I have been on dates before. It's just hard to put them into the same context as Kane. "A date is when two people who are involved with each other go places and do things that they enjoy… together." That's about the best definition I can give.

"I see," says Kane. "So… this is like our thirty-seventh date. Good to know."

That can't be right. Not that I'm objecting to the notion of our dating. It's only that… Well, we're not a "couple" in the traditional sense. There are certain liberties Kane and I aren't privy to. Not because we're two men. Even to folks unfamiliar to our line of work, it couldn't be more obvious that we're related. As a result, I have to keep an eye on how close I stand next to him or the way I touch him. I have to treat him as my brother, not my lover.

"Mark, buy me a chili cheese dog." Kane grabs my hand and drags me towards the cart. So much for his public displays of affection problem.

"Hey! I paid to get in this place! Buy your own damn dog!"

Kane does not let up on the tugging, drawing me unwillingly behind him. "I didn't ask you to pay," he shouts. "I asked you to buy me a chili cheese dog. And maybe some funnel cake later on."

What, am I made of money? "You didn't _ask_ me anything, bucko." He is straight-up demanding!

A figure standing near the snack stand gives me pause. I dig my heels into the dirt, bringing this caravan to a halt.

In a voice loaded with exasperation, Kane groans, "What is your problem? You can get a chili dog, too."

Like I was waiting for his permission. Proving how kind and generous I truly am, I ignore his tone. "There's a line. Let's come back later."

"It's two people, Mark!" He yanks on me, but I don't budge an inch. "I hardly think they're buying for a busload."

"You never know… Those things do happen…"

He's not buying it. In fact, he is so not buying it, I may lose the arm as well as the argument. "You know I don't like throwing this word around but… That is the _stupidest_ thing you have ever said to me. Including the time you tried to convince me there were aliens hiding in my closet, wanting to take me back to their home planet."

What can I say? I was an imaginative kid.

Kane looks at the snack cart, looks back at me, then the cart, then me again. Smile spreading across his face, he whispers, "Oh, Marcus…"

"Don't you 'Oh, Marcus' me!" I know exactly what he saw and I am in no mood for discussion.

Despite my irritation, his hand brushes against my cheek. This is not the time or the place for his comforting side to emerge. "Mark… Are you… _scared_ of that clown?"

Knock his teeth out. Straight knee to the dome. Simply wrap my fingers around his neck until the light goes out of his eyes. All those thoughts run through my head in the time it takes me to blink. However, there are too many witnesses around for me to act. Leaving me with one card left to play. Deny, deny, deny. "I am not _scared_ of anything. Well, except maybe you and a lit match." It's a cruel dig, but I can be a cruel man when backed into a corner.

Kane doesn't so much as flinch at my remark. "Don't you worry, Markie. I'll protect you from that clown. And his evil balloon animals."

"I am not afraid!" My raised voice draws the attention of a couple passing by. From them I receive my second odd look of the day. Latching onto his arm – he's lucky I didn't snatch a handful of his hair – I haul Kane away from the cart and the clown. "I am not afraid of clowns. I just don't like them. Not too fond of you, either, at the moment. All we need now is run across a bunny farm and my day will be complete!"

"Wait a minute!" Kane manages to get in front of me, cutting off further escape. "How can you not like bunnies? They're so small and timid. Not a danger to the big, bad Undertaker."

"Hey! They are twitchy little shits and they're always nibbling on something!"

"So are you, Markie."

"Call me Markie again and I _will_ smite you. This conversation is over. No more talk of clowns _or_ bunnies!"

Kane strokes my cheek again. Except this time, I think it's more condescending than comforting. "You don't have to get all bent outta shape about it." He takes the lead again. "Come on. Let's hit the fun house."

The structure he is referring to is less than twenty feet away. Hanging over the archway is, of course, the face of a smiling clown. Its evil, black eyes glare down at me, pinning me to the spot. Those teeth… Surrounded by blood red lips, they look razor sharp. Like the damn thing is waiting to take a bite out of my ass.

Kane squeezes my hand. "Close your eyes," he says. "I'll lead you inside. Nothing bad will get you… Well… Besides me, of course." His heartfelt smile warms by blood better than a shot of top-shelf brandy.

"You're just loving this, aren't you?"

"No." Somehow, his smile manages to grow brighter. "I'm loving you. It's not often I get to put you at ease. It's a bit… refreshing."

"To know I have a weakness."

"To know I can put someone at ease." Despite the cluster of folks roaming around us, he leans in close. Invading my personal space. "I bet it's _really_ dark in there, Mark." I don't know whether to focus on his just within reach lips or the delightful twinkle in his eyes. "There's bound to be some out of the way, forgotten space… What do you say we make that fun house rock?"

**END**


End file.
